Say It
by Destiny919
Summary: Mako tells Korra he loves her every night. But he never says it when he knows she's awake. Part 2 is now up!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Part 2 should be coming along soon! Rated M for suggestiveness ehehee.**

Why won't he ever say it to her face?

Why does he only whisper it late at night, when his arms are wrapped around her next to him in the twisted sheets, and he thinks she's asleep?

Why can't she hear it when she's meant to hear it?

Maybe one night, when he says it after he thinks she's asleep, she can startle him by letting him see that she's not, by saying it back. Because she wants to say it, she feels it so much. And yet he won't say it to her, he doesn't want her to know. So she won't let him know that she feels the same.

It happens night after night, skin to skin under the covers, Mako, her Mako, says so quietly, "I love you." He says it every time, and each hidden confession holds more passion, intensity, and pure truthfulness than the last.

Sometimes it comes out muffled, when his face is pressed against her neck and she can feel his breath tickle her as he speaks. He never waits for her to say it, he thinks she's asleep, he just buries deeper into her skin, kissing her throat and holding her tighter.

Korra would just say it herself, she wants to with all her soul, but she's scared. He won't say it to her, he doesn't want her to know he loves her. She doesn't know why. So she can't tell him she knows, can't bring herself. His declaration, hushed and fervent but secret, seems like something utterly private, something only he wants to know about, even though she's the one he loves. She's the one who loves him back and isn't allowed to say it. He won't let her.

Why won't he just say it, tell her to her face? When he's above her, cheeks flushed and amber eyes glowing with desire, buried deep inside, and she's digging her nails into his back, why does he just say, "Korra, Korra," why doesn't he say, "Korra, I love you"?

And even if he doesn't say it to her directly, even if he never says it at all, she's able to tell from how he acts. Not just when they're twined together in his bed at night (and sometimes during the day), but when he holds her hand a little extra tightly, the look on his face right before he kisses her good-bye in the morning, the contented little humming noise he makes when they simply hug. She knows. How can he think she doesn't want to hear it out loud, too? How can he be afraid? How can he think there was the slightest possibility she wouldn't say it back, and mean it with her whole being?

She doesn't know how. So she can't bring herself to say it first. It makes her angry with him, for causing the uncertainty, denying her the bliss of knowing as an absolute, stated fact that he loves her, that he knows she loves him. That he is hers, and only hers, and she is his, and only his.

It makes her angry. It makes her feel hurt. It makes her feel like maybe he doesn't really love her, and she really is asleep when he says that, and she's dreaming it because she loves him so much and wants him to love her too. Needs him to.

But he won't. And she doesn't know how to make him.

Insecurity is a feeling totally alien to her. She is the Avatar, the most naturally powerful individual in the world. But in this strange territory, her very power makes her feel more vulnerable. It's likely that Mako doesn't want to tell her he loves her because he is so afraid that she is dangerous, that being near her is dangerous. His brother was already captured once, and narrowly escaped with his life. Or maybe he's afraid that she will be captured next, that he'll have to worry about losing someone he loves, once again.

She's worried about that too. It was bad enough when Bolin, her wonderful new friend, was taken and almost lost. What if Mako is caught next, what if she can't save him, what if she loses the one she loves more than any other in the world? And what if it is the very fact of her love for him that causes that. She couldn't bear it, she couldn't bear to lose him, she couldn't bear it to be her own fault if she did. So in a desperate effort to stave off the possibility, she ignores what he says, and doesn't say it herself. The relationship that in the beginning made her feel more safe and secure than anything else becomes her greatest fear. And she's not supposed to be afraid of anything.

Or maybe it's because she is afraid, she isn't invincible, doesn't feel invincible, that she doesn't say it back. Maybe it's because she's afraid that she's right, she imagined his confessions, and if she says it he'll be gone. The Avatar is thousands of years old and immensely powerful, afraid of nothing. But Korra is seventeen, she's just a girl, and she's afraid of so much.

But she can't stop thinking about it. Can't stop thinking about him, the private words whispered in the dark, and whether they're real or not.

It bleeds into other parts of her life, their relationship, their time together.

During practice, maybe she's a little more quiet than usual, maybe she frowns a little more, laughs a little less, waterwhips him a little harder.

"What's wrong?" he asks her, rubbing the spot on his shoulder where the water hit him.

She doesn't answer. She turns away and clenches her fists, shutting her eyes against any tears.

She wants to stay away at night, spare herself the agony of hearing those words and being unable to say them back because of the terrible fear twisting in her heart. But she can't bring herself to, can't bring herself to refuse going home with him after a late practice, to deny herself the bliss that his arms around her and his lips on hers bring. She loves him. She can't stay away.

"You've been so quiet lately," he whispers to her one night, his arm resting on her stomach and his face on her breasts. "Not . . . not a few minutes ago, but now, and at practice or other times. Why don't you talk anymore?"

Korra doesn't answer. She shuts her eyes. But she can't stop herself from reaching to rest her hand on his head, hold it a little closer, and weave her fingers through his soft, dark hair. Mako sighs in contentment, and lays a kiss on her soft skin. But he hasn't forgotten his question, and repeats it. "I'm tired," she says. It's not the real answer to his question, but it's the truth.

"Mm," he agrees. "Go to sleep." He kisses her again. "I'll still be here in the morning. Talk then," he adds, only slightly kidding.

He wants her to go to sleep so he can say he loves her. And yet he won't say it now, when she's listening. Why won't he? But Korra feigns going to sleep anyway. She wants to hear the precious words, relish in the few moments she can believe they're real, whether she's supposed to or not.

It's a little while later. She's been still and quiet for long enough, it seems. He murmurs into her collarbone, "I love you."

A silent tear slides down her cheek.

Korra is training, nailing earth dummies with water, when she hears Bolin ask Mako a question.

"Is everything okay with you guys?" He thinks he's being too quiet for her to hear, but she can. She can hear Mako's response too.

He mutters disconsolately, "I don't know. She hasn't been herself lately."

"She's been brooding almost as much as you." Bolin chuckles.

". . . Do you think she wants to break up?" She can hear intense anxiety buried beneath Mako's careful words. His question startles her, she nearly drops the stream of water. Not being together has never even crossed her mind. She has never imagined any future where they weren't together. Except for the ones where Mako was dead and it was because of her. It makes her feel even more afraid, knowing that it was something Mako thought about, that he could bear thinking about.

"I don't know." Bolin shrugs. "In my experience . . . but then again, Korra isn't like any other girl I've been with."

"Yeah," Mako mutters. "She isn't like any other girl."

Korra doesn't know how much longer she can stand this.

How much longer she can stand his refusal to say it to her face, her inability to say it herself. The fear keeps gripping her heart, when she's with him it chokes her, so unlike the security and affection she felt before. The love she wishes he would let her feel now. She can't feel his love in small gestures any more, distrusts her own interpretation. She thinks of a small test.

Her back is pressed against his chest, her head tucked under his chin, snug in his arms. Her eyes are wide open, but he can't see it. He thinks she's asleep. So he says it, he says, "I love you, Korra."

"What did you say?" she replies, making her voice sound groggy, as if she were asleep but his words woke her.

"N-Nothing," he stammers a little, and she can see his hand resting on her hip, the knuckles turning white. "Go back to sleep, it wasn't important."

Korra can't sleep. She can't sleep, doesn't want to sleep, doesn't want to miss it if he says it again. But he doesn't. She stays awake, still and quiet, until the sun peeks through the window into the attic room, and he doesn't say another word. Her heart is about to swell and explode, and her heart is crushed and withered. Tears don't help. Saltwater won't clean her wounds. Only his touch can distract her. Only his words will be able to heal her.

And he won't say it.


	2. Chapter 2

More weeks have passed, and he still won't say it. They spend weeks and hours together, they spend nights together, the words are burning a hole in her tongue and her heart, and he still won't say it.

The Equalists must still be rounded up, imprisoned, reasoned with. They work together, with the police, with all of Republic City to bring them in and end this war. It's violent and sometimes deadly.

Korra is worried that she'll die and never hear him say it, that he'll die and never hear her say it. She's worried that all she'll have in her ears is a sleepy, secret whisper that may be real and may not be. She is still being distant from Mako, saying little, fighting hard and standing stiff in his embrace. She doesn't know how to withstand his silence, she doesn't know how to weather his refusal to say it. But she does nothing else, because she loves him, she loves him with all her soul, even if he won't say it and she can't.

One night, after a fight is difficult and once her life flashed before her eyes, Mako holds her extra tightly, arms around her waist and her head tucked beneath his chin. She waits to hear him say it, praying to every spirit that she won't fall asleep.

It seems that she's become a masochist, because the words hurt, because he won't say them to her when he knows she's listening, because everything hurts and she craves the pain his words bring. She craves the pain he brings.

"I love you."

The words are as soft and quiet as breathing. He says the words like they're as necessary and natural as breathing. But if they are, why won't he say them to her? Why can't she say them to him?

Because she's weak, and she's scared, and maybe that's why he won't say them.

Maybe they're more alike than she ever thought.

But one thing they do not share is that Korra is impatient, and Mako is not. Maybe he can wait a thousand years, a thousand lifetimes of the Avatar, to tell her he loves her, but she cannot. She can barely stand to wait another rapid heartbeat, pounding out the rhythm of her fear and her insecurity and his silence and his words.

"Are you okay?" he asks her one day, when she's barely spoken for the entire practice. She's keeping her silence, just like he is.

"I'm fine."

She isn't fine, though.

"Korra, I know you're lying," he says. "Why won't you tell me?"

_Why won't you tell _me_?_ Is on the tip of her tongue. But she stays quiet. "It's nothing," she says with all the reassurance she can muster. "I'm just tired."

Tired of the quiet.

"I understand. Maybe you should stay over at the island tonight?" He looks almost pained.

But she can't do that. She can't deny herself his love, whether it's verbal or not. So she turns, and hugs him around the waist. Silently. He doesn't speak either.

He never speaks.

A few days later, he comes to see her at Air Temple Island. She sees him get accosted by Ikki and Jinora. She hears Ikki ask an impetuous question, "Do you love Korra?"

Without so much as a beat, Mako answers, "Yes."

When Mako looks for her that afternoon, he doesn't find her.

She can't stay away for too long, though. It's the masochism coming to get her, the need to have something that hurts her. It hurts her and heals her, it brings her pain and it brings her the most incredible joy. There are words that could take away the hurt, erase the wounds left behind.

But he won't say it.

Not to her. She heard him say it to Ikki and Jinora without hesitating, but he could have been lying to avoid the girls' question. She could be lying to herself, imagining the words spoken in the darkness. She probably is. Mako is brave – why would he be afraid to say it?

She thought she was brave too, but she isn't. She can't say it either.

So eventually Korra decides that she to do what she knows best: use force.

The next time they meet, she snuggles in close, making sure her ear is in a prime listening position. And he says it.

"I love you so much, Korra."

It's the first time he's added the "so much," and it almost stops her for a moment. But her resolve quickens, and she acts.

Korra rolls over on top of him. Mako gasps and his eyes widen. "Um. Did you hear that?" he asks apprehensively.

"I sure did. In fact, I've heard it every night."

Mako blinks. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Why didn't _you_? You thought I was asleep every time you spoke."

He looks away. "I . . . I was afraid."

"Afraid of _what_?" She needs the answers, she needs to know why he won't say it. She presses her forehead to his and stares into his eyes, hoping he'll see the love in hers and face his fears.

"I was afraid you wouldn't say it back. I was afraid that if I said it, you'd realize that you're the Avatar and I'm an idiot who still isn't good enough."

Korra leans in and kisses him hard. "You are good enough. Quit it with the stupid insecurity, cool guy. I don't think I would still be the Avatar right now if I didn't have you."

She takes a deep breath. "You have no reason to be afraid. So . . . say it."

He sits up, taking her with him, and cups her face in his hands, touching his forehead to hers again. His eyes were softer than she'd ever seen them. "I love you."

And finally she can reply, so fast the words are a blur of feeling. "Iloveyoutoo!"

He's kissing her, kissing her with a meaning that hasn't been there before. He's saying it with every touch of his lips to hers, because they're no longer afraid to say it.


End file.
